


Ready Now

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Exhibitionism, First Time, M/M, Ritual Sex, Self-Lubrication, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir accepts the honour of taking Elladan and Elrohir under Elrond’s watchful gaze, though their father is the one he truly wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready Now

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for tsundere-wild’s “the coming of age / ‘majority rites’ festivities requires a ritual for one to lose their virginity on the eve of their birth…and this will prove to be a challenging (but not impossible) task for the mischievous twin sons of elrond. Moderately experienced, closer to his sons age and proven trustworthy, elrond assigned a surprised lindir to the task. Initially reluctant, the loyal steward was only persuaded when his lord assured him he will be there to secretly observe through the proceedings (possibly in a hidden area in the room where the ritual will be held) to ensure things will go smoothly, if it would not affect his performance :p It didn’t XD In fact, Lindir performs more beautifully knowing he is watching, imagining it was his beloved lord he is making love to, and who is unaware of his desires until during the ritual.” prompt on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/125410127060/fic-prompt). (I had to change a few things to make it my own and not so long, as I don’t have time for large requests.) 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They pause outside the doorway, the lilting music of the celebration still wafting down the hall. The air is thick with incense, Lindir’s stomach full from the feast, but he wish now he’d had more wine. He stayed his hand for this performance, but his nerves are cloying at him before he’s even begun. He almost lifts his hand to the doorknob, but doesn’t quite. He stands, instead, in his loose robes and his hair braided down his back, Elrond’s circlet for once missing from his brow. He’s been prepared for this, physically since this morning, mentally since he was first informed that he was chosen, but none of it’s been enough. As lovely, as strong, as charming as Elladan and Elrohir are, they aren’t _their father_ , and that’s what makes it so difficult for Lindir to open the doors of their room. 

Beside him, Elrond repeats, “You do not have to do this.” He was given a choice, of course, over and over, and he said _yes_ , because it’s likely the closest Lindir will ever come to having Elrond himself. Still, it seems a betrayal. 

For a meager excuse, he murmurs, “Forgive me, my lord. I am still shocked that... that you have chosen me. I am only a servant.”

“A more than worthy one,” Elrond gently coaxes, his voice deep and steady—he had even less wine than Lindir, busy watching his children as he was. It’s the eve of their birth today, and they seemed to thoroughly enjoy the celebration that Lindir helped organize. But the more stringent ritual is yet to come: the first taking of their bodies. Though they’re younger than Lindir, they seem more powerful in many ways, excelling warriors as they are, and it’s strange for Lindir to think that _he_ should be the one to teach them. Yet Elrond assures him, “I have great trust in you, Lindir. I am not too proud to admit that my sons can be difficult at times, and I believe you can navigate that, and that they respect you enough to listen. You are also close to their age, and very beautiful.” 

Lindir’s cheeks flush hot instantly. There are very few occasions where he elicits such comments, but he treasures them every time they come. He is nothing to the handsomeness of his lord, but so long as that lord can find him pleasing to look at, he’s content. He knows the words are meant to assure him that Elladan and Elrohir find him acceptable, but he cares little for their approval, and more for the knowledge that Elrond thinks him _beautiful._ He finds it difficult to meet Elrond’s eyes. As usual, he fears his desire will betray him. 

He hesitates too long. He can feel that Elrond’s about to jump in again, perhaps to stop it, and Lindir lifts his head, trying to breathe, muttering, “I am sorry. It is just that I am not particularly experienced.” In his peripherals, he can see Elrond dip his head in acquiescence. This is another excuse that he’s used before, and one that’s earned him part of what he really wants. 

Elrond reassures him, “I will be watching, though Elladan and Elrohir have requested that I remain out of sight for the sake of your performance. I do not wish to make you more nervous, but I will be there for you the moment you should have need of anything, including a wish for it to end.”

A shiver runs down Lindir’s spine. But he straightens, nodding. He wishes they hadn’t made such a request; he probably would perform far better with Elrond to look at, although it might make him burn too hot with shame. And he’d surely be discovered. And while he would do anything Elrond asked—including pleasure both his sons—Lindir would also do almost anything to stay in Elrond’s employ. He does his best to bottle his unanswerable feelings. 

He says, “Thank you, my lord,” and lifts his hand to the handle. It’s cool in his palm, less foreboding than it seemed. Elrond stands still, waiting, while Lindir pushes open the door. 

When it’s wide enough, he slips inside without another word. Every moment he delays only makes it harder. The door swings quietly shut behind him, and Lindir’s eyes are immediately drawn to the bed at his right. There’s another directly across the room, but tonight, both of Elrond’s sons sit on one. The balcony is open, the music from the festivities still faint in the distance, the curtains all drawn wide. The light has faded, but the stars have enough panes of glass to filter through, and the room is a pleasant, pale blue, almost iridescent. The twins look over at him and straighten up, evidently having lay down together to talk.

There’s no clear place in the room for Elrond to be, and at first, that’s all Lindir can wonder; where will his lord’s eyes be coming from, and how much will they see? Then Elladan grins mischievously and reaches out a hand, Elrohir idly finger-combing his dark hair over his shoulder. They’re both exceptionally pretty—far more so than Lindir, who’s always thought himself rather plain. Their faces are only just growing hard, chiseled like their father’s, and in a few years, they’ll doubtlessly be handsome beyond compare—except in Lindir’s loyal eyes, of course—but for now, the softness of Elven youth keeps them beautiful. They both wear thin, silver robes, hanging loose about their shoulders—Lindir’s much the same, but blue and not quite shimmering. Finally, he moves towards their silent command. They’re still his lords, and to some extent, he can let that guide him.

When he’s close enough to touch, Elladan’s fingers lock around his wrist, and he’s pulled forward, hauled onto the bed. He stumbles at first, blushing in embarrassment and hurriedly straightening, hoping Elrond didn’t see it. Then Elrohir is beside him, fisting in the neck of his robe and tugging it down, until his shoulder’s exposed enough to kiss. Elladan moves to the other side, tilting to scrape his teeth along Lindir’s neck. Somehow, Lindir didn’t expect it to begin so quickly, though he knew exactly what he was coming for. For the first few kisses, scattered along his upper body, they have him off guard. They don’t act like elves with no experience at all. 

Before Lindir comes up with anything to say, Elladan slips a hand down the front of his robes, pressing against his chest and slicing cleanly to his stomach. Elladan lifts forward on steady knees to nip at Lindir’s ear, lick the edge and purr into it, “We are _very_ pleased with our father’s choice, you know.”

“You are interesting,” Elrohir coos, before Lindir has had any chance to answer. Elrohir helps his brother part Lindir’s robes, until his entire front is exposed, the belt loose around his middle. Lindir finds himself somewhat boring, but Elrohir sighs appreciatively and explains, “You seem so very loyal, so obedient, with our father...” Lindir’s breath hitches; it’s true. 

“A pity you never leave his side long enough for us to spend any time with you alone,” Elladan adds. His eyes are down in Lindir’s lap, and he tugs away the tie with a playful interest. In an effort to take some semblance of lead, Lindir returns the favour and parts Elladan’s robes, the creamy, expensive fabric opening so very easily. Elladan lets it slide down his body without a word, instead focusing on touching Lindir. When Lindir turns to Elrohir, Elladan sets into scraping dull teeth along his neck. 

As Lindir opens Elrohir’s robes, Elrohir asks, “Is it true that you dress our father in the mornings? It seems unfair that you never dress us, though we are hardly complaining that you have come to do the opposite...” Again, Lindir says nothing, though his cheeks have grown stiflingly hot. He doesn’t like not answering direct questions from his lords, but he justifies himself in that Lord Elrond’s business is for no one else, not even his sons, to know. Elrohir clicks his tongue at Lindir’s deliberate silence, but he still looks down and helpfully wriggles out of the robes that Lindir pulls loose. Given how this has started, he isn’t particularly surprised to see that Elrohir wears nothing underneath. 

The crotch that Lindir reveals is a pretty sight, just as much as the rest of Elrohir, but knowing he’s being observed, he tries not to stare. Elrohir seems to have no shame about it; he sits with his legs parted, open, his pink cock nestled happily along his thighs, already partially hard. He has only a thin smattering of dark curls around his cock, the rest hairless, as most elves. He’s about the same length as Lindir, but perhaps a little thinner. As Lindir turns back to Elladan, he’s grabbed suddenly and spun around, an arm looping around his waist and pulling him in. He’s flattened against Elladan’s strong body, his mouth brought to Elladan’s lips, and his hands fly to splay against Elladan’s chest. Elrohir’s quickly behind him, driving into his body, cock pressed into the groove of his ass through what remains of his robes, strewn half-open about his lap. At first, Lindir’s too surprised for any reaction, but then Elladan’s tongue is pushing at his lips and snaking inside his mouth, and all Lindir can think is that: _no_ , he doesn’t think Elrond would do that. Elrond can be a fierce warrior, yes, but surely he’s a gentle lover, and their first kiss would not be so rough. Both of the twins are talented, and resisting them is difficult, but Lindir is meant to be the one in change, and he shoves at Elladan’s chest, effectively pushing away. 

They let him go and stare at him as he scoots a step back, breathing a little hard. They blink at him, curious and confused, but they’re like their father in that at least; they don’t act while it’s unclear what he wants. Lindir lifts his wrist to wipe his lips clean, and he fights to regain some semblance of command, explaining shakily, “I am meant to be the one taking you...”

They glance at one another, but their smiles come back soon enough. Now that it’s clear Lindir plans to stay, Elladan sheds the rest of his robes on his own, leaving Lindir in bed with two naked lords of legendary looks and almost predatory eyes. Elrohir murmurs softly, “He thought of Ada...”

Lindir’s head snaps aside, but Elladan chuckles, revealing they don’t know as much as Lindir fears. “He is not evaluating you on your ability to steer us...”

“No,” Lindir admits, though the mention of Elrond makes it difficult for him to speak. He’s almost naked, and his lord can likely see him, and all he’s done is shy away from them. He’d _meant_ to please Elrond’s sons, he really had; it would be poor service indeed to ruin their festivities. Reeling himself in, he repeats, “No, he would not.” And he reaches out an arm that Elladan happily slinks into. 

They still work in tandem, devilish, and while Elladan closes his lips against Lindir’s, Elrohir pulls the remaining fabric from Lindir’s lap. Lindir feels dreadfully exposed, but he shivers and attempts to overcome it. Elladan behaves himself and keeps the kiss chaste, though his hand rises to cup Lindir’s cheek, strangely intimate. Lindir threads his own fingers back into Elladan’s hair, thinking it can’t be so very different from Elrond’s. That makes it easier. Thinking of Elrond watching makes it easier. It fills him with a spark of hunger that he allows to pass into Elladan’s mouth, and he pries Elladan’s lips apart the way Elladan had to him. Elladan surrenders to it, even moans against him, pushes forward eagerly, and Lindir has to hold him still just to prevent being pushed to the mattress. A desperate mouth latches around his neck, sucking, and Lindir releases Elladan to oblige, tilting Elrohir up to kiss him, too. They taste remarkably similar, just like they smell, feel.

When he’s finished with Elrohir’s mouth, he has to open his eyes. It shatters his illusion, and he deliberately avoids looking at their faces, eyeing their bodies instead—thinner than their father’s, likely less broad-shouldered. They have little, cute nipples, rosy pink and pebbled on their arching chests, and he imagines Elrond’s would be a bit larger, maybe brown, and might take a bit more coaxing to peak so wantonly. Dry mouthed, he asks, “Which of you should I take, and which should take me?”

Their grins deepen, as though they’ve discussed this very thing. Neither answer him, but they both move at once, Elladan slipping behind Lindir and Elrohir coming in front, their hands reaching out to tug him closer to the middle of the bed. Both press into him, their skin setting his on fire, and Elrohir tilts his face as though about to kiss Lindir, but instead purrs across his lips, “I am already prepared for you, but are you for my brother?” 

Lindir presses his mouth to Elrohir’s purely for distraction. He didn’t expect things to move so quickly, and although his body holds some lust for theirs, he can feel that his channel isn’t ready for an intrusion. He finds it almost difficult to believe that Elrohir’s is, but they’ve likely been looking forward to this, so much so that the anticipation’s readied them. Elladan rocks his body against Lindir’s, his long shaft pressing between Lindir’s taut cheeks. When Lindir and Elrohir part, Elladan announces, “No, he is not.” Elrohir’s nose instantly wrinkles in displeasure, and Elladan asks, almost with a pout in his voice, “You do not find us attractive?”

“Or perhaps we were wrong,” Elrohir asks, even as he takes Lindir’s hand, wraps his fingers around it and presses it against his cheek. “We had heard that elves grew loose and wet when hungry for another. I am this way, and I had assumed all others...”

Lindir kisses him again, this time to hush him, but only fleeting. Turning, Lindir kisses Elladan next, though he wouldn’t manage the awkward angle if it weren’t for Elladan leaning back into him. Even when they’ve finished, the twins touch him, close in on him, lick at his neck and shoulders as he tries to talk, as though determined to spike his interest. He murmurs, “I am sorry... you are of very handsome stock...” Poor wording, but he doesn’t wish to lie. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back onto Elladan’s shoulders, and tries to clear his mind, thinking only of _Elrond_ , to make his body stir. When he touches himself at night, Elrond is always the one he thinks of. He tries to pretend their mouths are his, but there are too many, too quick and too enthusiastic. 

“Perhaps you are thinking of someone else and it diverts you,” Elladan suggests, fingers climbing into Lindir’s hair. He can feel his braid being undone, Elrohir’s fingers joining it, gently combing through. 

Elrohir asks almost haughtily, “How could you possibly be thinking of someone other than your lords?” Lindir shakes his head: no one. He never thinks of anyone but his lord, but only the one. He presses forward to kiss Elrohir again, and he lets his hand stay against Elrohir’s cheek, the other tracing down Elrohir’s body—it does feel _good_ in his hands, feather-soft; is this what Elrond would feel like, or more hardened from years and battle? He dips between Elrohir’s leg to grasp Elrohir’s cock, already hard for him, and it has the desired effect; Elrohir gasps, falling into Lindir and quieting on the subject. Elladan bucks against Lindir, perhaps jealous, clearly just as aroused. 

Elladan asks, “Is it because our father watches?” Lindir tries to say nothing, but the reminder makes him moan into Elrohir’s mouth; Elrond called him _beautiful_ —perhaps his naked body could be pleasing to his lord like this. It’s probably ruined by being sandwiched between Elrond’s sons, but Lindir still tries to arch attractively, and his lips part from Elrohir’s, hazy, half-lidded eyes quickly darting about the room—where could he be hiding? If Lindir could only see Elrond’s perfect eyes, he would be hard enough to take Elrohir. 

Of course, he’s failing his master by this. He should be pleasuring the twins. He accepted this task, and thus his duty to keep Elrond’s sons happy, and so he returns to Elrohir. He loops one arm around Elrohir’s waist, hiking Elrohir up, and Elrohir rises obediently on his knees. Lindir ducks his head to splay his tongue over one pert nipple, pressing it down before rolling it in a small circle, then lapping at it before tugging the abused bud into his mouth. He gives a gentle suck, and Elrohir gasps, fingers clawing into Lindir’s hair. When Lindir finishes the first, he licks over to the second. It lets him close his eyes and pretend it’s his beloved Elrond’s chest he worships. He’s dreamed many times of kissing Elrond all over, right down his body to suckle at his nipples and swallows his cock. Lindir would do anything for Elrond, and that lust drives him, helps his body prepare for entrance. Elrohir moans in delight at the treatment, whimpering when Lindir stops. 

As Lindir straightens out again, Elladan drapes a hand over his shoulder. He turns, and Elladan whispers in his ear, “Best perform well, servant. Your master can see your every move.”

It’s a sudden, horrible change, but the effect is immediate; Lindir lets out a desperate keening noise, arching back. The blunt head of Elladan’s cock draws down his crack, poking at his hole, and Elladan murmurs in approval, “There we go. Now you are growing wet...” The cock withdraws, replaced with a smaller digit. Elladan traces once around the puckered brim, then pushes inside, and Lindir grits his teeth, though it doesn’t hurt—his channel’s dilating open, ready at the thought of his _master_. Elladan’s finger curls and strokes at Lindir’s walls, and he purrs, “Is that what gets you hard: thoughts of being watched?”

“Or thoughts of our father,” Elrohir suggests, to Lindir’s utter horror. Elrohir dips both hands to Lindir’s thighs, petting along them, and it looks like he’s about to say more, but Lindir cuts him off. 

Thought it pains Lindir to snap at his lords, he hisses, “Hush.” Elrohir grins but closes his mouth, and Lindir knows he’s confirmed their suspicions but doesn’t have the strength to do anything about it. He’s losing control, the thought of Elrond knowing making him shake, the thought of Elrond watching him making him hot. He’s helpless between the too dichotomies, so he focuses only on his task. He presses at Elrohir’s chest, guiding him down, and Elrohir settles onto his back, automatically spreading his legs. They part around Lindir’s, hiking over Lindir’s thighs. With his cock arching off his stomach, it gives Lindir a lovely view of his hole, dripping wet and blinking open. 

Biting his bottom lip, Elrohir mumbles, “I am excited to feel a man inside me for the first time.” He reaches his hands down, flattening them over Lindir’s stomach, but he can’t reach much else. Lindir leans over him to help. Elrohir holds onto his shoulders, and Lindir holds himself up on one arm, the other bending to position himself at Elrohir’s waiting entrance. He can feel the slick juices the second he presses his tip against it, and Elrohir whines, trying to roll down though unable to impale himself. Lindir fixates only on Elrohir’s furrowed hole, imaging that he’s about to takes his lord for the first time. 

The first push inside goes farther than he thought, and Lindir gasps at the sudden pressure, the heat, while Elrohir arches off the bed, crying out. Lindir had meant to go in only slowly, but Elrohir is so very loose and wet that it’s easy to push deeper in one go, and the velvety walls around him seem to suck him inside. He gives in to thrusting his hips forward, filling Elrohir completely and pretending he’ sheathing himself in Elrond. He almost wishes he’d turned Elrohir around—their hair isn’t so different, and it would’ve been easier to pretend, but it’s too late now, and Elrohir’s already tugging him down. He goes, lying over Elrohir with one hand to either side and his hips setting into work. Elrohir rolls up first, gasping at his own ministrations, before Lindir quickly follows. Now that he’s inside, Elrohir feels wonderfully _good_ , and it’s easy to mindlessly pump into him, drawn by the blissful feeling. 

He tries to aim, of course. He tries to be good, trying different angles until he finds the one that makes Elrohir scream in delight, clutching to him tighter. It might be hard enough to bruise. He’s already likely covered in teeth marks and the wet, red circles of their sucking mouths. As he works to bury himself in Elrohir, slide out and shove forward again, Elladan drapes half over him. He can feel Elladan at his entrance, and he bites the inside of his mouth in an instant, lest he should moan his lord’s name. He imagines it’s Elrond’s cock probing at his entrance, pushing past his muscles, so it’s Elrond he shudders open for, dribbles out a fresh spill of juices and arches back, heart beating faster in his chest. Elladan sinks into him with harried, unsteady thrusts, inexperienced but fierce, probably nothing like how Elrond would take him in slow, deliberate slides, but he pretends all the same. Elladan is never quite clumsy, though close. He pushes in deeper, faster than Lindir would first like, but the more he thinks of Elrond, the less it matters. Finally, Elladan is in to the hilt, and he grinds himself against Lindir’s ass, his mouth biting possessively into Lindir’s shoulder. 

Elladan sets a far more ferocious pace than Lindir had, and it shoves him forward into Elrohir, who takes it with a blissful cry. Lindir tries to control the tempo, tries to make it fluid and rhythmic—he likes things to be orderly, when they can. But Elladan has none of it and fucks him rough, hard, taking it out on Elrohir between. Elrohir makes beautiful noises and can’t seem to stop _touching_ Lindir. He runs his hands all over Lindir’s body, claws at Lindir’s hair and pulls Lindir in for kiss after kiss, while Elladan spears him and nips at his neck, wrenching his hair aside. It’s a heady, wondrous sensation to be taken at both ends, better when he remembers his audience. He tries to focus on pleasuring the twins, but they make it so very _difficult_ , and mostly, Lindir drowns in his own rapture. 

Lindir has no great stamina, but Elrohir is younger and newer and finishes first, almost fast, for an elf. He shrieks as he comes, tossing up at Lindir with clawing hands, his thighs clenching tight to Lindir’s sides and his cock spurting against Lindir’s stomach, despite never having been touched. Lindir was going to save that until the end, but evidently, he misjudged Elrohir’s endurance. He would’ve thought such a skillful warrior would last longer, but of course, the bedroom is an entirely different matter, and it takes as much learning as any other talent. Lindir continues to take Elrohir through it, half to milk him out and half because Elladan hasn’t stopped. But Elladan only lasts a few strokes more, then comes with a cry, burying his face in Lindir’s shoulder and bursting hard in Lindir’s body. Lindir’s first thought is that the seed must be similar to his father. Elladan trembles as he comes, hips brutally pounding into Lindir, until Elladan collapses against him, breathing hard and lightly beaded in sweat, Elrohir much the same. Lindir is mostly dry—it takes much to expend an elf to that level, but unsurprising on their first time. He stays slumped between them for a moment, glued to either body. 

Elrohir is the first to move. He squirms off of Lindir’s cock, though doesn’t sit up, simply sprawls in bed lazily, a satiated smile on his face. Over Lindir’s shoulder, Elladan suggests, “Perhaps you had best roll over, Elrohir?” Elrohir’s grin becomes a smirk, and something flashes through his eyes, but Lindir doesn’t know what it means. Elrohir turns onto all fours and lays back against the mattress, his legs spread to reveal his open hole, still dribbling a clear, slick liquid that pools at the top of his tight, ripe balls. It’s a pleasant enough sight, made better by Elladan’s hand snaking around to close over Lindir’s cock. Lindir’s breath catches, and Elladan rolls forward, his cock still sheathed in Lindir’s channel and miraculously half-hard. Elladan licks up the tip of Lindir’s ear and purrs, “Does that make it easier to pretend he is our father, dear Lindir?”

Lindir jolts, sitting bolt upright, but Elladan has a tight grip on him and stays there. Elladan’s fist squeezes lightly, thumb teasing Lindir’s tip, playing with the foreskin as he murmurs, “We may not appear exactly like him, but we are still his sons, and we are close. Look at Elrohir with his head bent that way, and only his back and hair to go on; he is not so different. You can pretend it was his body you were in, or you can pretend he was in you.” Elladan punctuates this by thrusting his hips forward, and Lindir’s head lolls back, a moan escaping his lips—for all his terror, it’s the truth, and Elladan’s words pierce him. Elladan’s voice is the most similar to Elrond’s, deep and melodic, naturally sultry. “He is watching you now,” Elladan murmurs, his fist shifting to pump Lindir’s cock in hard, steady strokes. “He must love you very deeply, in his own way, to give us to you, and we know he is looking on, eyeing your pretty body, all kiss-swollen and wanton for him. Have you done this already? Shed all your robes for him and gotten on your knees? Or is this the first time he will see you like this, I wonder...?”

Lindir’s eyelids have been difficult to hold up, but he does so to watch Elrohir’s spent form. He’s embarrassingly hard in Elladan’s grasp, much closer to the edge than he was before, though it was still _good_ ; he should’ve expect nothing less. Elrohir turns his head to glance over his shoulder and adds, “You can come to us anytime, but Adar would be a fool not to take you, with how loyal and desperate for him you are. Look, you are trembling. Is it the mere thought of your beloved lord Elrond, kissing you and touching the way we have, or at least watching you claim other elves, taking pleasure in your body...?”

Lindir cries out suddenly, arching up and splashing his seed along Elrohir’s back. Elrohir squirms but takes it, mewling as his brother pumps out jet after jet. Lindir’s head thins, swamped in heat, but in all that joyous incoherency, _Elrond_ is still the name on his lips. He’s powerless to stop it. He surrenders himself to that want, overcome. 

And not until he’s spent everything he has does Elladan pull out of him, leaving him empty and wanting, the shame slowly dragging him back to the world. 

He slumps over Elrohir but doesn’t quite fall. They give him that moment, until Elrohir asks, “Will you stay the night?” It’s a simple question, not quite a plea. An invitation. If Lindir were a better elf, he would. 

But he’s not. He must see Elrond. He has to face his truth, because if he lies here in the safety of their arms, it’ll eat him up inside him. He fumbles for his robes, messily slipping them on, acutely aware of how musky he smells and how disheveled he looks. Elladan touches his back as he slides off the bed, but only says, “We enjoyed you.” They both smile. 

Lindir half-heartedly returns it. His first step stings, but he forces himself not to limp. He leaves as quickly as he can manage. A part of him wants to run to his rooms and hide forever, but the rest wants to call Elrond’s name, bow to the ground and beg for forgiveness. 

When he slips outside the doors, Elrond’s waiting there. He looks as handsome as he did when Lindir left him, perfectly composed: a strange sight after the debauchery past the closing doors. There’s a thin frown on Elrond’s lips, and Lindir has nothing to say to it. He can’t even seem to get an apology past his throat. He clings to his robes, holding them tightly closed, and bows his head, trying not to tremble. 

Elrond asks quietly, “Is it true?”

There’s no need to ask of what he speaks. Lindir opens his mouth to deny it, to blame Elladan and Elrohir for causing trouble, but he can’t lie to his lord. He’s never been able to. So he can only nod, then admit in a broken whisper, because it’s so much more than what the twins made it out to be—simple lust—“I have always loved you, my lord.” 

Elrond _sighs_.

His palm presses gently against Lindir’s cheek. Startled, Lindir looks up. The light in this hall isn’t as good as it was on the other side of the doors, but it’s enough for him to see there is no anger on Elrond’s face. That, at least, is a relief. He murmurs, “I am sorry,” and lifts one hand to hold over Elrond’s. The mere touch of Elrond’s soft skin makes him nearly tremble. 

The more he looks in Elrond’s face, the more he’s sure there’s no disapproval. Patience, yes, as there’s always been, but perhaps a spark of something... more. He isn’t sure quite what. And from the proximity and the lingering fuzziness of his brain, Lindir, somehow, leans forward. Unthinkingly, he brushes his lips over Elrond’s, only chaste, and pulls right back again. His face is burning. 

Elrond dons a soft smile, calmer than his sons’, and he says only, “You are tired.”

“I am never too tired for you, my lord,” Lindir insists, sincere, needy. He doesn’t know what he expects, only what he wants, and he’s shocked when Elrond draws him closer. 

Elrond kisses him back, but deeper, a tongue trailing questioningly along his lips, as though to see if it’s real. Lindir opens immediately and barely has the wherewithal to cling to Elrond’s shoulders. He’s shaking. He flings himself at Elrond, clutching desperately, kissing back and close to crying, overwhelmed; Elrond is _kissing him_ ; he dared to dream, but never to hope. When Elrond parts their lips, he has to hold Lindir back by the grip still on his cheek. 

“Perhaps you will be willing to spend the night with me, then,” Elrond muses, somehow making the request sound wise, only reasonable, and though Lindir was quick to reject the twins, Elrond he instantly accepts. “We will need much time to talk.” 

Lindir nods vigorously. He can feel the water at the corner of his eyes, and he has to choke back a sob that puts a dismayed look on Elrond’s face, but Lindir quickly explains, “Forgive me. I am just... so very happy.” It earns him a comforting embrace, with Elrond’s arm looping around him, and he buries his face in Elrond’s shoulder, breathing in Elrond’s thick sent. He wishes he’d had Elrond for his own coming of age ceremony, although perhaps it was for the best; he knows it would’ve been harder for Elrond to be with him so young. He’s still young, but old enough. He’s wanted Elrond all through it.

Elrond keeps one arm around Lindir’s back and gently guides him down the hall, while Lindir tries not to lean on Elrond or cling too much and wishes he’d spoken the truth from the beginning.


End file.
